Hold the Cheese Please

First of all, cheese is sick.

Second of all, melted cheese is sicker.

Last of all, macaroni covered in fake melted cheese triggers my overly sensitive gag reflux. And ALWAYS has.

Stay away!!

But today was mac and cheese day in the cafeteria at school. At most schools, you send the kids to eat their lunch by themselves. Probably because kids can handle the smell and texture of plastic food pumped full of fillers better than teachers can. But at my current school, I have to watch my kids slurp their delicious pseudo-food down. And smell everything that comes with it.

So I walked into the cafeteria today and tried not to dry heave. It's CHEESE! The aroma of melted cheese!! And now I want to DIE!

That's what my face told my students.

So today they did everything possible to make me gag. And I suffered.

First they dipped their chicken nuggets in their mac and cheese, leaned their heads back and made me watch them drip the cheese slowly, drop by drop, into their mouths. Then they licked their lips, and blew their plastic cheese breath in my face.

But that wasn't enough. So they stuck their straws in the mac and cheese and made loud slurping noises to see if it would get me.

I got up and walked around to hold the cookies down.

So then, my class clown figured he had the best idea of grossing out the teacher.... To soak his chocolate chip cookies in his mac and cheese and subsequently gobble them down.

The horror!!

And it started a revolution in the lunchroom.

Cookies and cheese. Cookies and cheese.

Enough said.

I will now sport my swine flu mask when I go to the lunchroom to stop the smells from making me pass away prematurely.

A Small Favor, Por Favor

All friends and readers, I have a small request for each of you.

In order to protect the innocent and any students I may write/have written about, I ask that any of you who have links to my blog using my full name to please change it to my first name or a pseudonym. Although I would never use the name or picture of a student on my blog, I still think it's important to protect anyone who might be mentioned in passing.

This is in effort to keep my blog from moving from public to private. All of your efforts are appreciated.

Thanks!

I think I've seen it all

I relieved my sixth grade dream last night.

And saw Boyz II Men. For free. At the state fair.

My friends in sixth grade choreographed a sweet dance to MoTown Philly's Back Again for the sixth grade talent show. Some of the moves these guys did on stage appeared uncannily similar.

This same year, all my friend's got to see Boyz II Men in concert at the local college campus basketball arena. I couldn't go. I had gymnastics practice in the same building, the same night. And could hear the concert going on several floors below me.

Sheer and utter tragedy.

So upon finding out I could see these aging hotties for FREE, it was a literal dream come true.

And they were so awesome. I highly recommend seeing them. If you can do it for free at a state fair.

After the concert was over, my friends and I walked around the fair a bit and I decided I needed a lemonade.

The guy at the lemonade stand said it looked like I'd just come from the Boyz II Men concert.

These fair people are so perceptive.

Yep! And I just relived my 12-year-old dream. It was a night to remember.

Oh, so that was like, what, 2 or 3 years ago?

(this is the point where the conversation turns awkward)

No. Loser, 14 years ago.

Oh. Shift shift. So. Shift shift. Um. What kind of lemonade did you want? (Fake, I feel stupid smile.)

I'll have a stiff martini to drown away my sorrows. Thanks.

I had had it! This dude pushed me over the top. I'd been having a low-self-concept-relating-to-my-youthful-looks week. If I was at a fair, I'm going to take advantage of the one thing I've got on people. No one can EVER guess my age.

So I'm on a mad mission. A mission to find the freaky booth where the fair weirdo guesses your age. And if he can't, you get a prize.

This was money in the bank.

I stop at the first booth where you throw balls at something and win prizes for something.

I ask the crazy-looking man with broken teeth if there's a booth where some fair person guesses your age.

(in an undistinguishable drawl from a backwoods town of nowhere USA)
Welllll, sweetie. I'm not sure about a booth. But judging from the looks of things, I'd say you're right around the age of 26.

Shock.

Awe.

And Horror.

Picture mine and my friend's lower mandibles at our knee caps.

How'd you do it?!!! You don't understand! Nobody can EVER guess my age. Ever!

Honey, I've been in this business all my life.

But some guy at the lemonade stand just said I look 14. There's no way you think I actually look 12 years older. How'd you do it?!!

It's in your eyes.

Wrinkles?

Nope. I can just read it in your eyes.

My friends decided he was possessed by the devil. That's the only way.

So my friends, I've seen it all.

Now only if I'd met a cowboy with a barbecue stain on his white t-shirt, it'd really be a night for the books.

Back from the dead.

I'm back.

Now officially going by the name of, teacher.

Because apparently when I became one, I lost both my first and my last name and henceforth am only called "TEEEEACHER!" for 8 hours of my life every day.

Even though I lost my identity, life is the bomb. Kids are cooler than adults.

PS- My car died this summer. I cried. And cried. For two days. Then bought a new one.

When I went to test drive cars, I asked for help. When the salesman was paged he looked around the waiting area. Looked some more. Looked over my head. Looked straight at me. Then looked over my head again. Then finally asked the receptionist, "Didn't you say someone needed help??"

Yes, moron. I'm not a martian. If you're implying that the young woman standing in front of you who looks 16 doesn't need help, you lost a sale.

And he did.

I bought a new car from another dude who treated me like a human. Who had funds to buy a car.

When they took me to the finance dept. the middle-aged saggy dude announced to the entire finance department, as well as myself, that I had good credit.

Phew.

Then shouted that my first credit card was opened from VICTORIA'S SECRET several years back.

Thanks.

I'd take my sale away from you too, moron, if I could.

But I couldn't.

So I walked away with a cool new car.

But am still mourning the last one.

Kind of.

Vive le Spiderman

I'm subbing this week at the same school where I spent four months subbing first grade last year. Luckily this week I'm subbing second grade so a lot of my students from last year are in my class again. I got mobbed, tackled, and cheered for when I walked in the door. Ah yes, this is why I chose this job.

My favorite student of all time is in my class again this week. This young lady is a precocious little seven-year-old about half the size of the rest of the class and with the mouth and wit of a middle schooler. She's incredibly vocal and can be any student's best friend or worst enemy. This tiny little thing will also have nothing to do with any of the feminine things the girls her age prefer. She's the first one to the soccer field at recess, the last one to leave, and pushes the boys down if they treat her badly. She holds her ground, won't let up until she gets her way, and the boys go crazy for her.

This little girl also has an unparalleled affinity for Spiderman. Last year I regularly saw her sporting Spiderman paraphanalia from head to toe: Spiderman rolling backpack, Spiderman velcro shoes, Spiderman letterman jacket, jeans with Spiderman on the pockets. You name it, she had it.

One day, she runs into the school doors with the full spiderman spandex getup. Head to toe. Mask on her face - everything. In March. Sorry, sweetie, no masks in school, not even at Halloween, when this kind of fashion statement is more widely accepted. I might as well have told her Santa Claus isn't real with the reaction I got. Wear it to recess instead.

After recess she runs in the door, "TEACHER!! At recess, all the sixth graders called SPIDER TWERP!"

Well my dear, I think you asked for it by wearing Spiderman spandex to school.

Next recess, she runs back in the door, "TEACHER this time they called me SPIDEY!"

Was that better?

With a glazed look in her eyes she responded, "ohhhhh YEAH!"

During this time I remember regularly going through stacks of papers to grade and seeing the name "Peter Parker" written at the top of several of them. No question who they belonged to. She didn't even bother to put any other calling card on the paper.

Today as I was back in the same school, things hadn't changed much. Her front teeth had grown in, as she proudly showed off to me. And she still beats up boys at recess.

As I taught the class, we had an opportunity for a discussion about heroes. I talked with the class about captain Richard Phillips of the boat that was hijacked by pirates and how he traded himself to the pirates in exchange of letting the rest of the crew go free. I then asked the class if they knew anyone who had done anything heroic.

Teacher! Teacher! She shouts back...

I know of the greatest hero! See... he was this guy who was kind of a nobody and got pushed around at school. And then something happened to him that changed him. After he got changed, he had lots of good skills like climbing walls and swinging from big buildings. Then he decided to be a hero with those new skills! And saved people!

True, true. Spiderman is a hero. Thank you.

A year later, the obsession still hasn't changed. But it's still adorable as it was last year. I wish I could get a glimspe of what will happen to these kids 20 years down the road. But as for now, keep the entertainment coming. And I hope I don't act like I have favorites. Cause I do.

20 Questions

I'm done with school! Now I can have a classroom of my very own. So I'm in the middle of the job hunt. Wish me luck.

While I'm looking for a job, I decided to substitute until the end of the school-year for a little extra dough.

For a time filler today I started the game of 20 questions. The first-graders I was subbing for guessed what I was thinking of in 11 questions.

Answer:
The moon.

The boy who guessed my answer came up to the front of the class and started the next game of 20 questions. The class guessed in 4 questions.

Question 1: Is it the sun?
No.

Question 2: Is it the earth?
No.

Question 3: Does it come from the ground?
Yes.

Question 4: IS IT GARBAGE-EATING WORMS?!!!
Yep!


Why, oh why, didn't I think of that??

Eat Some Food Already

From time to time in my household I yell or get slightly irrational and crazy. I have a not-quite-5-foot tall roommate who, from time to time, does the same. Generally when this occurs the other roommates yell, FEED THE LITTLE ONES! They get mean if you don't feed them!

Unfortunately there's a lot of truth in this statement. Hypoglycemia strikes again.

The other day was oh so gorgeous. So I went to the gym and on the way home I stopped to wash my car. I usually go to the cheapest car wash available. I like the ones that take quarters where you race the clock, running around the car with the little hose doing a piss-poor job at washing, but keeping yourself mildly entertained.

Since the day was so beautiful, there was a long line for these coveted quarter-car-wash bays. So as I waited, I jumped out of my car and started vacuuming the interior. As I vacuumed, I saw some innocent bystander looking at me. Then he looked some more. Then he started walking toward me, still looking. Lame. Thanks to my trip to the gym, I think my blood sugar had gotten a bit low. So I shouted at the fella, "STOP STARING!!! I don't even KNOW YOU!"

Poor chap, stopped in his tracks and turned and walked the other way. Whoopsie. Must be past lunch time.

Still waiting for the quarter bay to open up. Nice little lady comes walking by with a gigantic Malamute. Pretty dog. But a little intimidating. So thanks to the hypoglycemia I shouted from my car, "LADY! You're walking a Wolf!"

Dang it, another dirty look. Don't blame me! Blame my blood sugar. It makes me mean.

So if you know me and I start to spew irrational craziness, just show me to the kitchen. It'll do wonders for my sanity and yours.

Death by Swine Flu

I just got back from Mexico City on Thursday and I'm sick!! And I was around pigs!

Dead serious.

I had a school trip with impeccable timing. All the news reports broke Friday. Friday night I was plagued with:

-Chills

-Headache

-Achy body

-Upset stomach

After I flew on two different planes, went to church, the mall, restaurants, public bathrooms and played with lots of small children I finally decided it might be a good idea to get tested for swine flu. Either that or my school wouldn't let me come to class (i.e. can't graduate) until I got tested.

Negative.

I thankfully will not be Utah's first confirmed case of the global pandemic.

The doc said I have gastroenteritis instead.

Either that or I'm pregnant.

I hope it's the latter.

Q's without the A's

Does anyone remember the question game? It's the game where you sit in a circle and you ask the person next to you a random question. Then that person turns to their neighbor and asks another random question, without answering the previous question. You have to do it as quickly as possible and if you pause too long before asking your question, you're out.

We'd played it in class today for a learning activity. After about five minutes I couldn't stop smiling so I wrote down the rest of the questions. It's a small glimpse into the ponderings of a seven-year-old.

Why don't monsters exist?

Why are we so destructive to Earth?

Why did you eat me?

Why are dinosaurs extinct?

Why do we wear underwear?

Why are you so weird?

Why do bats fly?

What planet are you from?

How much do clouds weigh?

Is your refrigerator running?

Why'd your dog eat my homework?

Why does your mom have a beard?

Why do our teeth fall out?

Why are there mutations?

Do you like Chuck Norris?

Why is your skin so white?

Why do we have heads?

Why are women more ferocious than men?

Why did we colonize?

Why aren't we going to recess?

Where are your snow socks?

Why am I so tough?

Why were we created?

Why isn't there gravity in outerspace?

Why do we pee?

Why do people make animals endangered?

Why do grownups wear mustaches?

Why are you such a tattle tale?

Why are we still here?

The winner of the game was a little boy who moved here from Egypt six months ago and who has only been speaking English for as long. After he won, the class crowded around him and cheered and tried to put him on their shoulders. He was beaming for the rest of the day.

So endearing.

An Ode to My Helmet

O helmet, my helmet, my living breath I owe all to you
O helmet, my helmet, crafted so strong and so true
Where would I be without thee sweet helmet, the Lord only knows
But I’ve come to sing your praises, from my head down to my toes

I bought thee sweet helmet only one short year ago
Initially, I thought I might buy it just for show
My silly head wasn’t thinking and my mind was in the wrong place
But it must’ve been intuition, cause it’s now my saving grace

I fell off the mountain and bounced off my head
Many times it hit the mountain, not my tete, but helmet instead
So I bounced off my helmet as my body went flying
And my friends watched nervously, biting nails and crying

Thanks to you I saved myself a one-way trip to heaven
That would’ve resulted from an obliterated C7
And I’m not hurt! My body is still in one piece
Thanks to you dear helmet, the love will never cease

O helmet, my helmet, all white and covered in ants
O helmet, my helmet, you look good with my ski pants
I pity the fool who’s not as strategic
For without you, o helmet, I’d be quadriplegic



Go team helmet!




Apres Helmet.

No Shame

Thanks to our poor economy, I scored a pair of cool skinny pants last week on clearance for 15 bucks. Nice work. I was a little unsure, however, about how these new cool pants accentuated my sometimes ample derriere. I thought twice before wearing them to teach the second graders, but wore em anyway.

So this week I got to teach the second graders how to borrow when they subtract. Lucky for me, if you teach it with enough enthusiasm to these kids, they'd go cookoo for just about anything. You should see them jump on their desk when they hear literary elements like alliteration used in context. So in efforts to excite these kids about subtraction, I taught them the phrase "bigger, bottom, borrow." We repeated this phrase about a hundred times today, driving home the concept that you don't borrow when the number on top is bigger, only the bottom.

As I gave the students their seatwork, one of my lovely hellions started snickering,

Ha ha! Bigger Bottom! Miss C's got the bigger bottom. Her bottom's the BIGGEST!

Well, guess those pants weren't the best purchase after all. And lucky for me, I've got shameless kids who would jump on their desk to tell me so.